


kismet

by lavkha



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavkha/pseuds/lavkha
Summary: “you need me, quackity. d’you hear me? youneedme!”
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit, Alexis | Quackity & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 5
Kudos: 145





	kismet

**Author's Note:**

> a lil character study for mr alex quackity before the war today. i love quackity ! um anyway pls dont share this w any ccs thank u .

“you need me, quackity! d’you hear me? you _need_ me!”

-

quackity laughs maniacally as he runs through the pine trees. holy shit, holy shit, he could practically hear schlatt’s men on horseback trailing behind him—but he didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare give away the slightest hint of fear. schlatt can smell fear, you know. he can topple nations. he can make quackity pay, if he really wants to.

he shivers. it’s hard to tell if it’ll rain tonight; the clouds are thick enough to obscure the moon but it’s not that humid. he thinks of warm rain and iced coffee. he thinks of home.

quackity forgot where the base was. fuck, he forgot, and tommy and tubbo and wilbur all split up, he should have never gone on his own—a bat screeches and he jumps.

“man, i fucking hate nature.”

the bat screeches back. this is gonna be a long night. 

-

he finally makes it back to the tiny hut they now call home. it really drains him, how he always feels restless, no matter if he’s in pogtopia or manberg or anywhere. he will always be reliant on someone else, and he hates it. why can’t he be independent?

(why can’t he let himself be cared for?)

the sun pokes through the mismatched logs and he reviews their resources. it won’t be long until his double-crossing is found out and schlatt… well, he’s not quite sure what’ll happen. he just knows it won’t be good.

technoblade shuffles in and grunts out a raspy “mornin’.” he shakes horse hair from his scarlet cape and quackity tries not to think about the bloodstains on the floor. he still doesn’t know techno that well, and he’s not sure he wants to. he’s just glad he’s on his side.

“morning, techno. did you see wilbur at all last night?”

“uh… wilbur? no, i don’t think so. he was down in the mines with tommy the whole time. mentioned something about laying down some tripwires.”

quackity’s eyes glaze over whenever redstone is brought up. the stuff dyes his hands and not in a sick-tattoo way.

“okay, well, if you see him, just—do you think you could let him know i wanna talk with him? preferably sometime soon?”

“sure. no problemo.” and with that, techno floated back into the forest. quackity is not sure that guy is fully human.

he gathers his things and prepares for the trek back to schlatt’s war room. it’ll be a day of berating, if it’s anything like yesterday. he just needs to keep a straight face and he’ll be set. why would schlatt ever suspect him? why would he throw everything—his position, his healthcare, his democratic values—all away for some fringe rebels?

he mulls it over on the walk back. he needs new boots; chainmail wears out so easily. (schlatt doesn’t trust him with netherite armor. he’s barred from enchantments, too. says he has to gain his trust.) what does he stand to gain from this?

schlatt is a tyrant. this is obvious. even if he was fairly elected, a just president wouldn’t expel tommy and wilbur, and certainly wouldn’t send tubbo after them. schlatt runs on fear and intimidation. so if schlatt is the lock, then wilbur and tommy both resemble the key. they can free dream’s world and let everyone live in peace. 

but how will they get peace from war? it’s a question he can’t wrap his head around. what if everyone is manipulating him, and wilbur won’t lead them into an era of unadulterated liberty? fuck, he doesn’t know.

quackity reaches a wheat paddy on the outskirts of manberg and sits for a minute. head swimming, he hugs himself, and thinks of a time where he can take a nap in the late afternoon sun without caring about stray bullets. it has been a week without rain. he thinks about the sun, sol, then thinks soledad, and he’s not trying to be some mushy emo teenager but he can’t help but think that there is nothing else out there for him. because after the war, what will he do? where will he be? he certainly doesn’t feel at home with wilbur--he and tommy have some weird frustrating symbiotic relationship where wilbur protects tommy and tommy cleans up the messes he leaves behind. there is no space for quackity there.

and is there a space for him next to dream? the guy seems clogged with interpersonal relationships, too busy to let quackity in. and what if… what if he dies?

because he doesn’t know what will happen during battle. he could die. they could all die, and lose, and everything would be lost and he would not be revived.

he hears someone trip behind him. he shoots up and sees that it’s just sam. they don’t speak, but make eye contact, and quackity rests a hand on his holster. today is not a day for small talk.

someone else is walking nearby. the leaves make a satisfying crunch with every step.

“ah, just who i was looking for! how are we, quackity?”

“uh, um, hello, schlatt.” he hates the quiver in his voice. he sees george, sapnap, and fundy flanking schlatt. he is cornered.

“i said, how are we?”

“i’m, i’m fine. how are--how are you?”

“oh, i think i’m doing just fine. looking forward to later.” schlatt grins. it is sickeningly sweet.

“ha, yeah, later. um, listen, schlatt, do you know where wilbur was last seen?”

“wilbur?” schlatt’s face instantly darkens. there is an opalesque glint in his eyes. “the traitor? why do you want to know about wilbur?”

“i--no! i don’t want to talk with him, duh, he’s a traitor, but i just wanted to be sure we know where, um, everyone is so we can be, uh, most prepared.” fuck.

“oh, well… of course. glad to hear you’re on the right side of history, quackity.” the smirk returns. “i believe wilbur was last seen on our territory at dusk, ruthlessly pillaging our resources like the pirate he is. which reminds me--men, head on over to the war room. i’ve got some planning to do.” george, sapnap, fundy, and sam all nod and head out. and quackity is alone with schlatt.

“just so we’re clear, quackity…” he gulps. schlatt moves forward, and quackity steps back. schlatt pinches his cheek with one hand and grasps the back of quackity’s beanie with the other. “… you need me. d’you hear me?”

he shakes out a frantic nod.

“you need me.”

-

the moonlight strains his eyes that night. he’s up late, working out his schedule for the next day. it’s hard to balance his work for manberg with his work for pogtopia. the alliances feel all muddled up. he doesn’t remember the day of the election, as much as everyone whispers and remembers and hushes and remembers. it’s like--it’s like his brain is a sad, soggy plate of scrambled eggs. as much as he pushes it around, it doesn’t get any better.

but really, he doesn’t remember anything about that day. what he had for breakfast, what the weather was like, who was there, what he wore--there are no memories of emotions. it’s just a black hole. a vortex, maybe, that ignored everyone but him. he notices it most when he’s around other people. tommy will make some lame joke about the election, about a fear, and tubbo will laugh because he and tommy share everything, and wilbur will give a sad little smile, and quackity is left sitting there trying not to cry because he cannot remember.

-

there will be war, today. there will be war. he hopes he can remember.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk if u want me 2 write more :p also yes this is also kinda a vent fic 


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